The children were silent, staring at him.
The sorcerer cackled, enjoying their fright. "Yet 'tis not thoughts alone I can send, nay! For years I have studied, trying and trying, again and again, whetting my powers with one weird brew after another—yet I have learned the craft of it, aye, learned it until I can work this spell without drinking even a drop of the potion, nor a whiff of its fumes! First with mere earthworms, then with the robins who came for them, then with field mice, rabbits, wolves, bears—all, all now cower before me! All shrink and howl, turn and flee, when I do cast this into their brains!"
"Cast what?" Even Geoffrey could not quite disguise the dread in his voice.
"Why… pain!" The sorcerer cackled with high glee. "'Tis pain, pure! Pain, searing pain, as though thy head did burn, and thy whole body did scream with the stings of a thousand bees! 'Tis pain, pain, the root of all power—for pain doth cause fear, and fear doth make all to obey! Yet!" He speared a long, bony forefinger straight up. "My work is not done! I cannot yet go forth, to take rule of the county! For I've not done with the last task!"
"And what task is that?" Magnus's voice trembled in spite of all his efforts; he could feel the feared answer coming.
"Why, people! Casting the pain into the minds of real people! With bears I have done it, with wolves, but never with people!" The sorcerer's eyes glittered. "To make human brains flame, to make mortal folk scream at my mere thought! And why have I not? Why, 'tis that I've never found folk with whom I could attempt it! Long have I sought some, to use for my learning—yet never did they come, strangers and alone, into my wood. Ever, ever did they come accompanied, three or four grown ones together—or they had folk who would seek them, an they did not return!"
"So have we!" Geoffrey said stoutly. "We too have folk who will scour this forest, an we come not home!"
"Thou dost lie." The sorcerer leveled a forefinger at him. "Never have I set eyes upon thee before; thou art not of this parish; thou art come from afar. And thou hast come without parents! None do so—save orphans! Or ones who do flee!" He cackled with glee at his own cleverness. "Nay, none will come seeking thee—and if they did, who would know where thou hast gone?"
"But the count!" Magnus cried, grasping at straws. "The count would call his men out against thee!"
"The count!" Lontar crowed. "Nay, there is no count! Dost thou not know? A giant did seize him! A giant did break down the door of the count's castle in the darkest hour of night, did thrust the count and his family into a bag, and commanded all
the knights and men-at-arms to put down their swords on pain of their lord's death! Then he clapped all those proud warriors in the deepest, dark dungeons, and hauled the count and his family away into his own hidden prison. The count? Ah, the count shall do naught! Nor can he, when I've learned to use my torture spell to its fullest! He, even he, shall not resist me—nor shall Groghat the giant! Even him shall I humble, even him shall I bring to his knees, screaming with the pain that sears through his brain! None will resist me; all will bow down!"
Suddenly, Gregory stilled, staring at him, unblinking.
"And I'll begin it with thee!" The old sorcerer spun, leveling a forefinger at Cordelia.
"Nay, thou shalt not!" Rage flared in Magnus in a moment of pure hate, every gram of emotion directed at the old sorcerer. Geoffrey's wrath joined his, and Cordelia's terrified anger.
Gregory cried, "I have it!" and instantly his brothers and sister found in their minds the old sorcerer's method for concentrating thought and projecting pain. With it came memories of the pain and terror of little animals, spurring the children to greater anger, and greater, as their fear and wrath focused into the old sorcerer while Cordelia screamed and screamed, the force of her horror tearing through the old man's brain with her brothers' hatred and rage behind it, stabbing through from temple to temple, searing his mind with his own techniques until his howl turned into a raw, hoarse scream. His body stiffened, hands curling into claws; he stood, back arched, for one frozen instant, then collapsed in a heap on the floor, totally silent.
The children stared, appalled, anger evaporating in an instant. Finally, Cordelia spoke. "Is… is he…"
Gregory was staring intently at the old body. "His heart hath stopped."
"We have slain him!" Cordelia cried, in dismay.
"More to the better!" Geoffrey snapped.
But Magnus said, "Nay! We must not have blood on our hands, an we can prevent it! What would Mama and Papa say?"
"That he is a vile, evil man," Geoffrey answered.
"But they would say also that we must spare his life, an we can." Cordelia knelt down by the body, gazing intently at Lontar's face. "What we have done thus far they would ap-
prove, for we have done it only in defense of ourselves—and I thank you, my brothers!" She gave each of them a warm look of gratitude that made even Geoffrey forget his anger for a moment; then she turned back to the sorcerer. "Now, though, 'tis another matter. Now we can spare his life—and we will, an we can start his heart to beating once again!"
"How canst thou do that?" Geoffrey questioned; but Magnus joined Gregory and Cordelia beside the waxen body, staring down.
"Be guided by me," Cordelia breathed, "for this is women's work, in this land. Squeeze the left of the heart, when I bid thee—now!"
With telekinesis, they massaged the heart. All three of them thought a squeeze on the left-hand side of the heart, then let go immediately.
"Now, the right side," Cordelia instructed, and they all squeezed together. "Now the left again… now right… left-right… left-right… left-right…"
They kept at it for several minutes while Geoffrey stood back glowering, his arms folded.
"It doth beat of its own," Gregory reported.
"Aye," Cordelia agreed, "but faintly. Keep pressing, brothers, but softly now."
Gradually, bit by bit, they lightened the pressure till, finally, the old man's heart was beating regularly again. Cordelia breathed a long, shaky sigh and sat back on her heels. "'Tisdone!"
"Mama would be proud of thee," Gregory said, beaming.
"And of thee." Cordelia managed a tremulous smile before she sighed again. "Eh, brothers! I hope that never again shall I come so close to causing another's death!"
"If thou dost," Geoffrey growled, "I trust he will deserve it as deeply as this one did."
Cordelia frowned down at the old sorcerer. "He hath caused great suffering, 'tis true."
Gregory frowned, too. "Mama and Papa hath said that when a person's heart is stopped too long, the brain can suffer hurt."
"Aye, and full damage." Magnus scowled, concentrating. The room was silent a moment while his brothers and sister watched him; then he nodded. "All is as it should be. From what I can tell, there is no damage done."
"There should have been," Geoffrey hissed.
Magnus glanced up at him, irritated, but said nothing—he couldn't really disagree.
"Yet I think he will not be so quick to offer injury again," Cordelia said thoughtfully.
"Aye… yet let us be certain." Magnus glared down at Lontar's unconscious face. The old man twitched in his sleep, and Magnus said, "Lay words, Gregory."
The little boy's face screwed up for a moment, then relaxed.
So did Magnus. He wiped his brow with a shaky smile. "An aught will restrain him, that will."
His brother and sister nodded. They had heard the thought Magnus and Gregory had implanted in the old man's mind. "Prom this time forth," Cordelia said, "if he doth so much as think of causing pain to another creature…"
"Every time," Gregory agreed, "each and every."
And they turned and went out the door, closing it behind them, leaving the unconscious sorcerer to waken in his own good time—with an association arc buried in his mind. If ever again he thought, even thought, of causing pain to somebody else, he would feel a twinge of the agony the children had given him stabbing through his own brain, and a small child's voice echoing in his ears: